There's always something good to read on Cover Reveals: Cover Reveal

Cover & Excerpt Reveal

Beyond Fate by Jackie Weger

Beyond Fate: An emotional rollercoaster.

Overcoming the demons of the past is never easy, but when fate comes a’calling and love works its magic, two lives may be changed forever. Lust and love burn hot in this sweet, classic romance.

Fletcher Maitland is smitten with the beautiful new arrival in Big Mama’s fish camp in the wilds of the Okefenokee Swamp. Cleo Anderson lives her life in the shadow of her mother’s sin. She's made one mistake already, but Fletcher is the man she’s always longed for. Now she must choose between a life lived in guilt and shame or a future Beyond Fate.

Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: December 3, 2012
Publisher: Liquid Silver Books

Excerpt & More

Excerpt:
The Old South! Heat and humidity, plantations and levees, rivers and swamps, bears, alligators, snakes, and wild hogs! If Cleo could get her hands on the travel writer who made Georgia sound so magical, she would’ve plucked his eyelashes out with tweezers. If only she had not made that left turn off of Interstate10! But there was the sign: SUWANEE RIVER. More imaginary magic had somehow drawn her to follow a hand-lettered sign that read: FISH CAMP. The sun was a blast furnace, and sweat dripped into her eyes as she struggled with the bracing strut that clamped the awning to her Play-Mor camper. If she didn’t get the awning up, she’d bake to death.

A commotion in the overgrowth that surrounded her campsite distracted her. A wild hog? A deer?

She was on the verge of dropping the strut and stepping inside the camper for safety’s sake when a man burst through head-high palm fronds. He was striding fast and looking over his shoulder. She realized she wasn’t even on his radar.

“Hey!” she called, but the warning was too late. He caromed into her. The strut flew out of her hands. The canvas awning collapsed and enveloped them both. The sun was shut out, and Cleo found herself being dragged to the sandy earth, her arms and legs entangled with those of the man. Her first thought was of sand fleas and fire ants. Every site she had camped in from Texas to Georgia had been infested with the vile things. Once bitten, forever shy. In her imagination they were crawling over every inch of her skin.

“Christ on a crutch,” he muttered.

“Move,” she said to the man, panic a microsecond away. She kicked at his arms and legs and tried lifting the heavy canvas from her face.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Be quiet for minute.”

“Be quiet? Are you nuts? I’m suffocating. Get us out of here.”

The sailcloth, stiff and unmalleable from its winter packing, defied her attempts to throw it off. She sucked in a lungful of hot, musty air. She heard herself breathing; heard him, too.

“Are you okay?”

“No, you broke my arm.”

“Jesus Christ.” He scrambled over her legs and burrowed toward fresh air. Cleo crawled behind and atop of him. She wanted out.

But he didn’t crawl into the sunlight and heat-drenched air; he maneuvered out from beneath the awning, up the two pull-down steps, and right into her small camper. The screened door snapped shut, and the latch clicked.

“What the heck—Hey! Come out of there!”

“Lady, please,” came his whispered, pleading reply, “tell them I kept going…”

“Who? Tell who?”

“Witches and warlocks. They’ll be here any second.”

Oh, God, a crazy. A moment later, unseen hands lifted the canvas. Cleo homed in on the light and scooted into sunshine and into two pairs of well-tanned legs. One pair was fat and solid, the other stick thin.

“Thanks.” She breathed as she got to her feet. Rivulets of sweat were running down her face and dripping off her chin. She took a swipe at them. She checked herself all over for ants.

“Is Fletcher under there?” asked the chubby blonde. She stomped about the canvas until it was flattened. Finding nothing, she gave Cleo a sidelong look of reproach—a look designed to make its recipient feel mildly guilty.

At the moment it would take far more than a look to make Cleo feel guilty about anything. She stretched out her arm. Not broken, but she bet she’d have some bruises. “Who?” she asked, and got busy dusting twigs and sand from her shorts.

“The tall good-looking guy. He ran into you, didn’t he? We heard you yell.”

“Something ambushed me. I didn’t notice what it looked like.” She took in the women. Two against one. Since she was somewhat in control now, charity reared its head. Cleo avoided glancing at the camper. “This guy you’re chasing, what’s he done?”

“Did you see which way he went?” asked Thin.

Cleo shook her head. Well, she hadn’t, had she? Now, if the woman asked, “Do you know where he is?” Cleo would have been obliged to tell. She had been raised to tell the truth, but sometimes it clotted in her throat and she could swallow it before it got out and did damage.
~~~~~~~~~~~

Other titles by Jackie Weger:
No Perfect Secret